A Mug of Warm Milk
by Molly Morrison
Summary: Harry develops powerful new abilities that surprise even Dumbledore. And what does a mug of warm milk have to do with anything? [One-shot]


Acknowledgements: Thanks to QB for Harry's "form" (you'll understand) and part of the method of Voldemort's defeat. Thanks to Perivayne for the rest of the method of Voldemort's defeat and Voldemort's "famous last words". ;-)

Author's Notes: I put this under humor/parody because it's funny (I hope) and also because it is a parody of Superpower!Harry fics. However, this does not mean I dislike Superpower!Harry fics—in fact, I think of this parody as a high form of parody. I've read enough of them, after all, to see some of the absurdities there, and to be able to enjoy them. ;-) I hope you enjoy the story!

**A Warm Mug of Milk**

Harry almost wished that he could say that his summer had been going exactly as he had planned. He was sitting in front of Dumbledore in his office at Hogwarts, which he had certainly not anticipated. "Have you noticed the appearance of any unusual new abilities, Harry?" Dumbledore was asking him in a perfectly pleasant tone after having offered him both tea and lemon drops.

"Abilities? I'm not allowed to perform magic during the summer, Professor Dumbledore," Harry reminded the headmaster, speaking slowly as if to someone of particularly low intelligence—or perhaps simply someone who often pretended to be eccentric to the border of insanity.

"Perhaps non-magical abilities, then?" Dumbledore asked, steepling his hands as though in thought while watching Harry with those annoying twinkling eyes.

"Well… I can read a lot, and remember everything.." Harry replied slowly. "What does this have to do with anything, though?"

Dumbledore smiled. "You may perform magic while you are here at Hogwarts, Harry. As you do, I believe you will find that you have developed magical side-effects as well. And I would like to make books on the animagus transformation available to you—I believe you will find it quite easy to manage the transformation with your new magical power and photographic memory."

* * *

Harry did indeed find the materials regarding the animagus transformation easy to understand, but when he performed the meditation to discover his form, he found something disturbing instead. "I don't have one animagus form, Albus!" he exclaimed to the headmaster (who had told him to call him Albus) later that day.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Ahh.. perhaps you have two or even more?"

"That's impossible," Harry exclaimed. "I read every book you gave me and not one of them mentioned a wizard who had more than one form!"

"That does not mean it is impossible, only highly improbable. Do you have multiple forms?"

Harry shook his head mutely. "Worse! More… 'improbable,' as you would say," he retorted angrily.

"A magical form?" Albus responded, eyes twinkling even more furiously.

"That's imp—even more improbable!" When Dumbledore's eyes did not cease twinkling, he responded, "No, I do not have a magical form!"

This finally succeeded in dimming the light in the headmaster's eyes slightly. "You mean to tell me you have no form at all? You have far too much power to fail to have an animagus form, Harry. You must have performed the meditation incorrectly."

"No, I did not perform the meditation incorrectly. I have a form, all right. But it's not an animagus form!"

"Then… what is it, if not an animagus form?" Dumbledore asked, a thorougly perplexed expression crossing his face before he replaced it with his standard, 'nice old man,' expression.

"An inanimagus form!" Harry exclaimed.

"A… but that's impossible!" Dumbledore replied in surprise.

There was a popping sound, and suddenly there was a mug sitting in the middle of the chair where Harry had been. The headmaster's mouth formed a perfect 'o' of surprise as Harry popped back into existence.

"Now do you see my problem?" Harry answered sardonically. Dumbledore only nodded mutely. After a moment, though, he began to steeple his fingers again thoughtfully.

"We can use this…"

* * *

Voldemort sighed as he re-entered his broken-down shack. Thankfully, it didn't leak air, but that was only because of magic. It had been a long day of Muggle-torturing and attacking unsuspecting wizards. He was glad to see that Wormtail had left his mug of warm milk by the door, as expected. He needed it to help him relax after a hard day.

The cup looked a little more battered than he expected, but Voldemort shrugged. Mostly likely, Wormtail had managed to drop and shatter it while trying to get it out of the cupboard, and the Dark Lord knew that the man couldn't manage a decent Reparo, even with the silver hand increasing his magic. He sipped his warm milk, and frowned as it seemed to have a slightly strange taste.

Voldemort smirked at the thought of one of his minions attempting to poison him. He was immune to such petty methods of assassination, and they knew they would suffer dearly for even trying. He took a larger gulp of the milk and held it in his mouth, savoring the strange taste as he set the mug back on the table.

Then, with a pop, the mug was gone and Harry Potter—the bane of his existence—was in its place! Voldemort gasped in surprise and inhaled some of the warm milk, then inhaled again as he looked around in anger, trying to decide who had taken down the anti-apparation wards.

Harry watched him, still seated on the table casually, his wand held loosely in his hand. Then he shrugged. "No one, dear Voldie. I didn't apparate."

'How?' Voldemort mouthed, still trying to expel the warm milk from his lungs. It was not to be, however.

"How did I know what you were thinking?" Harry translated, tapping his forehead. "Did you forget about the link we have, Moldywarts?" Voldemort attempted to gasp in anger at the even more insulting nickname, and only further sealed his death.

Harry sniffed his fingers, and it was then that Voldemort placed the strange taste in his milk. "Vanilla… my favorite…" he managed to gasp out, and Harry nodded.

As the Man-Once-Known-As-Tom-Riddle fell to the ground, choking to death on his last mug of warm milk, Harry stepped past him and saw several Death Eaters lurking in the shadows. "How..?" asked one of them, and Harry shrugged.

"Like this." With a pop, he was replaced by a mug. With another pop, he was back to his normal form. For a moment, one of the Death Eaters had glimpsed his distinguishing feature that neither Voldemort nor Wormtail had seen—a large lightning bolt at the bottom of the cup. Voldemort might have seen and known, if he had just finished his milk like his mother would have told him.

* * *

Author's Note: So, Voldemort just turned out so bitter because Vanilla was his favorite and he was allergic to it. Nothing to do with the Muggles, really. ;-) 


End file.
